


In Betweens

by lasergirl



Category: Sin City (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasergirl/pseuds/lasergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwight's still getting used to his new face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Betweens

_**Sin City: In Betweens**_  
**Title:** In Betweens  
**Fandom:** Sin City movieverse  
**Pairing:** Marv/Dwight  
**Rating:** Disturbing  
**Summary:** Dwight's still getting used to his new face.

**Notes:** I wanted it. I wrote it. I hurt myself and broke my brain, but it's done. For what it's worth, I love Marv and Dwight. I'm just not certain this ever should have been written

A million thanks to [](http://guede-mazaka.livejournal.com/profile)[**guede_mazaka**](http://guede-mazaka.livejournal.com/) and [](http://linaerys.livejournal.com/profile)[**linaerys**](http://linaerys.livejournal.com/) for the (much-needed) pokes, and letting me torture myself in private enough that I got the damn thing finished.

Marv thinks the new face is prettier than the last one. Maybe cause Dwight finally let his hair grow out. Maybe cause they've both had far too much to drink. Maybe cause in the dark, everything looks better. They drink, and sit in the dark, and watch the girls dance. The soup of drugs still floating in Dwight's blood has him reeling.

"You want another?" Dwight holds his greasy glass up between thumb and forefinger and watches the refractions of light paint colours around Marv's head. Behind him a girl - she's new and he's forgotten her name - grinds against a pole onstage. He looks at her and feels nothing, not even a heartbeat. He looks back at Marv.

The big monkey's got his fists on the table and they're taking up so much space there's hardly room for his three empty bottles. It takes a few seconds for the words and guesture to seep through the drunken haze, but Marv grins and nods eventually.

"I'll be right back." Dwight stumbles away from the table, feeling wretched. After so many months lying next to Gail, these other girls don't even compare. He can't watch them bump and shimmy without his stomach twisting up in knots. And all along he thought it was the painkillers.

The john's a dive, cracked tile and grime, but the musty water feels cool on the back of his neck. His reflection in the tarnished mirror is unfamiliar; strange, high cheekbones, nose, jawline, chin. He's a flayed man, skin hung out on display over someone else's bones. Even his hands look different, but he knows that can't be true; these are his fingerprints, after all.

Something shoulders in against the door and eclipses the light. For a second, Dwight thinks it's the end of the world, but he looks up and sees Marv holding a beer. Like he didn't just barge into the place.

"You don't look so hot." Bastard's strong, too, he grabs ahold of Dwight's shoulder and pulls him upright (funny, Dwight didn't notice he was half on the floor in a puddle of vomit). "Maybe we'd better take a walk outside."

"Sure." Dwight skirts the bar in Marv's shadow until the cool darkness outside wraps around them. After dark in Sin City all you hear is the wail of women and police sirens, the sharp pop of stilletto heels and Smith &amp; Wessons. For Dwight it was almost like a heartbeat.

Marv leans against the wall and watches while he retches in a corner of the backalley. The whiskey tastes just as sour coming back up, and Dwight's sick of the smell of it. The streetlight burns his eyes. He takes a step forward and comes to rest against a brick wall, toe to forehead. He breathes.

The wall breathes too: Marv puts one arm over Dwight's narrow shoulder.

"Dwight?"

"I don't even know anymore." The tension in his throat squeezes the words into unholy shapes, the panic sitting just under the skin. If he pushes any harder against the brick wall of Marv, the surgical screws holding his new cheekbones together will press out through that skin in perfect red pearls. Dwight pushes.

The wall pushes back, smelling of beer and a hundred cigarettes, smelling of the cold brick at his kidneys, smelling of night air and stars and something else Dwight can't identify. He thinks of flowers that don't grow in the city, rare one, flowers he remembers from white gauze dreams.

"Sometimes I gotta remind myself you're still the same guy." Marv's voice rumbles deep in his chest, through ribs that resonate with the sound. He tilts Dwight's new face to catch the streetlight. "I get confused sometimes. But you got the same eyes."

"It's still me," says Dwight through cracked lips, but even he's not sure anymore. It seems like such a long time ago, another life. He shivers.

The bulk of Marv, every brutal muscle of him, bends around him in a strange gentleness, blacking out the streetlight, the dim glow of the alley, the faraway spray of lost stars. He laces his fingers through Dwight's tangled forelock that hangs down over one eye. Marv says, "You smell like flowers." It's just so wrong. Dwight tells himself that, but he doesn't move (well, can't, not pinned in like this). Won't.

"That's roses." Red petals are crush-dried in his coat pocket from the wilting bouquet Gail placed by his bedside. With his mouth packed in gauze he couldn't ask her where they came from: flowers like that have no place in Old Town. Too pretty, too perfect. Dwight savaged the heads and stripped them bare, peeled the petals away and left the skeletons of the stems standing on display.

As if that was his intention. As if that brief act of violence could make him stop aching. But nothing could numb him that much, not even the horse pills he choked down dry on a swollen tongue. Against Marv's chest, he can feel tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

Marv isn't gentle when he jerks Dwight's head back and his mouth comes down sloppily in a drunken kiss. He doesn't have to be. Dwight bites on his lip hard enough to draw blood, feeling heat spreading between them where they touch.

The girls don't move like this; they are savages of a different kind, all sinews and grace and their touches bring pleasure. Marv's big hands are heavy from barfights, holding only the merest memory of a woman's body. Dwight doesn't fit that picture but he's there anyway, just as insistent, his hip grinding bone-on-flesh against Marv's solid thigh.

When Marv pivots and forces him against the wall, Dwight cries out. It's lost in the night, just another shrill cry in the backalleys. The gritty brick under his cheek kisses cool against hot skin. He could drill a hole in the wall with his cock. Marv is behind him, around him, leaning down to trail the dark hairs across the back of his neck.

"Reminds me of this one time." Marv has one big hand between Dwight and the wall, his own mindless cock pressing into Dwight's thighs. His breath comes panting hot, steaming in the streetlight. Dwight wants to grab his big skull and ram it into the bricks just to get on with it.

"Shut up, you big monkey," he snarls, "Shut up and fuck."

Marv's hips jerk like a broken marionnette, and Dwight imagines the pictures playing in his head are prettier than what's actually happening. He imagines real grass, a sunset, a beautiful girl spread out with handcuffs and nothing else. God only knows what's flashing through Marv's rewired skull. He doesn't even bother to aim (Dwight wonders idly if he's ever had a man before, or if Marv can even tell the difference).

Marv grunts when he comes in his clothes. The only indication that he's satisfied is the damn bloody grin, red between his teeth from the bite on his lip. At least, that's what Dwight thinks it is. He slithers between Marv and the wall, pushing the big guy down. If he can get a hint, Dwight knows what he wants.

He's not such a slow learner. Maybe he did learn a thing or two about the differences of men and women somewhere. Dwight makes him open his mouth, hot and wet and ridiculously gentle. Marv holds him down, hands like bands of iron aross skinny hips. Bruises rise easily now, adrenaline and pulse racing and he doesn't feel it hurting. Dwight smacks his own head back against the brick, shooting stars in his eyes and rattling the hardware in his skull. Fuck, the girls could do this but it wouldn't be half as -

Oh.

Quick learner. Marv cleans him up and bows his head where he kneels. Dwight sags bonelessly againt the wall, chill where sweat and spit evaporates into the night. He wishes he knew who he should be, black or white, not trapped between two faces.

Then Marv stands up and it's like nothing happened. "You remind me of someone," he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand; gleaming blood and semen trail, but he doesn't care. "I knew someone once reminds me of you."

Dwight says nothing, but hitches his pants up with one hand, digs in his coat pocket with the other for cigarettes. He lights two, and one hangs on his lip when he offers the other to Marv. Smoke rises.

"But you gotta forgive me," Marv says then, "I get confused sometimes."

END.

Questions? Comments? Feedback always appreciated.


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